The Coldest Winter Ever

  “Do you have any kids, Midnight?” Silence. “Answer the question,” I insisted.

  “You ever seen me with a kid?” he asked, now aggravated.

  “That’s not the point. A lot of niggas got kids everywhere but you never see them.”

  “Yeah well, I’m not a lot of niggas! If I had a kid everybody would know.”

  I felt easy again. “How old are you, anyway?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “You starting to sound like the police.”

  “Not hardly,” I said, smiling real sexy-like.

  “I’m twenty-two.”

  Without missing a beat and without being asked I responded, “I’m eighteen in three weeks.”

  He looked at me serious like: “Lying sure comes easy to you. You don’t have to take a breath, blink, twitch, nothing. The lies just roll straight off your tongue.”

  “How old do you think I am?” I asked Midnight.

  Porsche jumped in, “She’s sixteen. She’ll be seventeen in January.” I pinched her leg under the table.

  Back in the hotel room, we played Go Fish, Pitty-pat, I Declare War, Old Maid, Candy Land, Trouble, and Sorry before the three little ones passed out. Everything was less tense than yesterday evening and for me this meant an opportunity. Before I could organize my approach, however, Midnight grabbed the remote and clicked on CNN News. I got up and stood in front of the television. He had entertained the kids, it was time for him to entertain me. He got an instant look of disgust on his face.

  “Why don’t you do something with yourself,” asked Midnight, annoyed.

  I glanced up toward the mirror to check my appearance. I looked good to me. So I asked, “Something like what?”

  “I don’t know. What do you do? What are you into?” My mind drew a blank. “So what’s up Shorty, what’s the answer?”

  I smiled, liking the fact that he was playing with me.

  “The answer to what?” I asked. He shook his head, as though I was frustrating him or something. “What? Is there something you want to hear, something I’m supposed to say? What?”

  “I asked you a question. What are you into? What do you like to do?” My mind started clicking.

  “I like to enjoy myself,” I said with much attitude. “What do you know about that Midnight? I like to feel good, relax, get high, fuck, dance, shake my ass, shop. I like to be turned on and I love to turn another motherfucker on.”

  “What do you read?” he asked. “What’s the name of the last book you read?”

  “I like movies, I like chillin’ with my girls. Matter of fact, if I wasn’t stuck here with you I’d have plenty of good shit to get into.”

  “What you gonna be when you grow up, Winter?”

  “Whatever. Maybe I’ll get a job like yours,” I said, cutting back at him and letting him know me and him are the same kind of people.

  “I got plans,” he said, going back into himself. Midnight went over to his leather bag, unzipped it, and said, “Here, pick out a book or tape. Do something with yourself. Just stay out of my way.”

  The Art of War, The Wretched of the Earth, The Judas Factor were a few of the books Midnight had in his case. They didn’t look interesting to me and I wasn’t gonna read some shit I didn’t like just to get his attention. I went for the tapes. He had Sade, Al B. Sure, Stephanie Mills, En Vogue, and Blackstreet. Mainly the old cool-out shit. I snatched up his Walkman. The wire for the headphones was twisted in between Midnight’s wallet flap. When I pulled the Walkman wire, the wallet flipped opened. With my back to him, I went through his stuff. He had a picture of a dark-skinned older woman. She looked about thirty-something. She had dark eyes and was wearing a scarf. The next window was a picture of a girl. She seemed about fourteen years old, with a cute little face and big innocent eyes. I figured it must be his sister. She seemed way too young to be his girlfriend. She was dark just like him. Also inside the wallet was a piece of paper folded twice over. It was old and worn. I opened it carefully trying not to make noise. It was a flyer advertising a Sister Souljah speaking event. Covering most of the page was a picture of her. The voice from the radio and the face on the picture didn’t match. I had pictured her to look like a man, rough hands and veins popping out of her neck. In the picture she looked normal, young, with a decent face. She looked like a regular uptown Harlem girl. You know in the picture she had her mouth wide open. On the bottom of the page was an event address: Brooklyn Friendship Baptist Church, on Herkimer Street. I quickly folded it up and slid it back into the wallet. I laid the wallet back into his overnight bag and went back to my room, closing the connecting door. Taking one of the pillows from the bed, I set up the corner chair for myself once again. I turned on an old Al B. Sure jam and drifted out to: “All I do is think about you night and day.” I can’t say that I remember my entire dream that night. But I do remember a vision of me and Midnight’s children. There were three of them. The oldest was a nappy-headed, rugged-looking boy, my son. Rough the way I like ’em. The girls had good hair like me, they were the color of hot caramel with diamond earrings. All of them were styling in complementary colors, Pelle Pelle jumpers with some kicks so fly they ain’t even been invented yet!

  When I pushed the door open the next morning, Midnight was stretched out on the floor doing push-ups in his undershirt and under shorts. He was breathing and sweating. My eyes raced across his body.

  “I’ll drive you home at about ten tonight,” he said. Inhale exhale. “Everything’s straight. Santiaga will be there. We just need to find something to do with the girls today. You know, to keep their attention.”

  At the count of one hundred and fifty, he dropped and rolled over on his back. He curled up his fist in his undershirt, exposing the solid six pack in his stomach.

  “What you think we can get the shorties into today?” he asked. I didn’t respond. “Winter, what up? You in there.” I smiled. He looked into my eyes and smiled. “You always looking for trouble, some shit you can’t handle.”

  Midnight delivered us home at 10 P.M. sharp. My handsome father was standing in the doorway waiting. His white linen suit gleamed in the light from the moon. His big hands rested in his pockets. He embraced Midnight as if he was family. He held my younger sisters in his arms one by one and gave me the warmest, securest hug back into my safe home. The house was extra clean. The music, an old Earth, Wind and Fire album, played softly in the background. Santiaga took Midnight into the den. Midnight came out a short while later, offering a general good night without so much as a glance in my direction. Santiaga sent my sisters off to bed with the idea that Mommy was away, as if on a trip, and would be home next weekend with candy and presents for everyone.

  Daddy followed me to my bedroom. I knew to be quiet. Santiaga looked more peaceful than he did on the day of the shooting incident. I switched on the lamp on my vanity table, and the added light revealed a strange scar on the right side of my father’s head. There was a maroon-colored dent hidden close to the right side of his hairline. The scar just made him more masculine than ever, just tough, sexy, unstoppable.

  “Alright Daddy, just fill me in. Whatever you need me to do. I’m down for you. You just let me know the plan!” He smiled. “How’s Mommy?” I asked.

  “Your mother’s OK. She’s a soldier. She’ll be home by the end of the week. Now, she’ll have bandages. She’ll have to take it easy for a while. But we’ll all help make it easier for her. You know how conceited she is,” he added, half-joking, “so don’t act like anything’s wrong with her face. She will have to have some type of treatment after a couple of weeks. I got something to make her forget the whole thing.” He signaled me to follow him. He led me down the hallway to the back window. “Take a look.” My mouth dropped open when I saw the big red set S-600 v12 Mercedes-Benz with a thick red bow and ribbons everywhere.

  “Oh shit,” I mumbled. My mind started working up a new wardrobe. If you gonna sport a ride like this, you gotta be dressed to kill. Me and Mommy would have to
go shopping immediately. Santiaga was still talking but I couldn’t hear him anymore. I kept seeing the expression on Natalie’s and Simone’s faces when I came to Brooklyn pushing not a 190 baby Benz, not a 280, but an S-600 v12. Would my mother let me drive it? Or would she only think of herself? Would she make me wait until Santiaga bought me a car? Or would she kick it with me like sisters would?

  Wait a minute. She was sick. Maybe she’d need me to drive around and do errands for her. Maybe she’d be a passenger for about a year or so. OK, I thought. Maybe she’d let me drive her around, but she wouldn’t let me chill in the car with Natalie ’n them. It would defeat the purpose of having a red Benz if you couldn’t flash it for your girls, ride around flexing. You know how many niggas would be on my bra strap after they saw me behind the wheel? Mad niggas! I’d be making them beg me, do shit they wouldn’t ordinarily do. Kiss my ass. Suck my toes. I started cracking up.

  Santiaga looked at me like I was bugging. I straightened my face. “Now, I’ve known a lot of cats who been shot before. Shot all over the body, the leg, the chest, the stomach, but every dude I know been shot in the head, never been the same no more. That’s the shit that worries me. That’s the shit that makes me want to kick my own ass for letting this happen. Winter, where’s your head at? I’m talking to you. If me and you are on point, everything else will fall in place. Here’s what I need from you. Stay out of Brooklyn, until I tell you it’s OK.”

  “What!” I said.

  “Now, listen to you,” he said. “Ten minutes ago you were saying just tell me the plan, I’m down for you Santiaga. Now you’re ready to betray me.”

  “No Santiaga, never betrayal. Betrayal is for suckers. That’s what you taught me. I’ll do what you want. I’ll stay out of Brooklyn until you tell me otherwise.”

  “And less talking is better. A whole lot less talking. You know how we do. The less you know, the better off we all are. And don’t get too comfortable just because we’re out here in the suburbs. Play your hand close to your chest like you’re still in the ghetto. Trust no one and answer no questions. Don’t give anybody our phone number who doesn’t already have it. Now don’t get paranoid. Just don’t get sloppy.”

  A long pause fell. I broke the silence. “You know when Midnight called the night of the incident and said he was coming to get us, I didn’t know whether I should have beeped you to confirm what was going on or just go along with what he was telling me to do. I figured everything was cool with him ’cause it always been.”

  “It’s good that you thought twice about it,” Santiaga said. “But Midnight’s clean. He’s as loyal as a blood-born son. I never had a problem out of him. I couldn’t have left him with my girls if I didn’t think I could trust him with my money and my life. Why, everything went OK, didn’t it?”

  “No, it went fine. He was a real gentleman,” I stated firmly, so as not to cause no problem between the two men I love. “Where did you meet Midnight?”

  “He was just a kid who had a brush with the law. You know how they do. Don’t want to give a kid a second chance. They force a man into a position where he can’t survive, can’t make no money. But when I first saw him, I knew he would be a good worker. He just had it in his eyes. Plus he didn’t have no family. A cat like that is gonna be loyal. He needed to be able to take care of himself.”

  “What happened to his family?”

  “I haven’t seen you this interested in nothing. What’s all the questions about?”

  “You know Daddy, I’m growing up. Look at me. I’ll be seventeen soon.” Santiaga watched me spin from left to right.

  “Yeah, you are growing up. I been thinking about that a lot lately.” He put his head down into his hand as though this topic was too heavy for him.

  “What about it?” I asked.

  “Do you know what I want for you? I want you to settle down. Meet a nice guy. One of those budding doctors or lawyers or engineers.”

  “You talking crazy, Daddy.”

  “No, seriously, Winter. My life from the outside is all good. But believe me, whether it’s actually all good or bad, right or wrong, there’s no letting up. No time to relax and just enjoy life. It’s right when you think you’ve made enough big moves, now you can take that deep breath, that’s when the next guy gets you. He’ll figure he caught you sleeping, call you a tired old fool and move on you. Nobody wants to be all the time with one eye looking over your shoulder and one eye at the door. You, Winter, you deserve better. You deserve to relax, kick back, have the easy and finer things in life. No stress. One of these big-headed doctors, lawyers, engineer boys around this neighborhood can give you that. A man in Midnight’s line of work can’t.”

  5

  When Momma was wheeled into the house the following week, it didn’t matter that Santiaga had coached us on how to act and what to say. By this time he had told my younger sisters that Momma fell down and had a little accident where she cut her face. But no rehearsal could have prepared them for what they saw. Anybody who knew Momma could only be thinking one thing: Damn! Who was that? She looks bad! Me and Magdalena tried to smile and make light of the situation. But that look of shock and horror that came over the kids’ faces when they saw her could not be erased by any joke. Momma was thinner than usual. The area around her mouth was twisted and disfigured. She still had a piece of bandage covering a small part of her face. There was only one thing I was sure of. I would be driving the big Benz.

  Later that evening, while Santiaga was out, I pushed my mother’s door open and quietly walked in. “What’s up, Momma. How you feeling?” She was responding but her words were slurred. She sounded like an old-style wax record with the needle dragging on it. “OK, Momma, don’t talk,” I said, holding my hand up and smiling wide to make her feel comfortable. “I got a lot to say. Let me just fill you in. Nordstrom’s has the perfect all-leather red Adrienne Vittadini suit for you. I even spotted some red driving gloves that go with it real nice. You hurry up and get better ’cause we gonna be cruising!” She gave me a sigh, then a half-smile. I knew that meant I was making her feel good. Hell, this was Momma. I knew what made her feel good!

  “The housekeeper is here full time now. We been taking care of everything. The girls missed you so much, they’re real happy you’re home. Oh and Santiaga, he’s like a puppy without his woman. You gotta hurry up and get better ’cause he needs you.” Just then with the mention of Santiaga’s name, one tear rolled out of Momma’s left eye. “Don’t worry, Momma. If there’s anything you need, I’ll get it for you.

  We gonna get it together.” I leaned over and gave her a kiss on her forehead, then whispered in her ear, “We bad bitches, remember? Bad bitches don’t die.” Again she cried instead of smiling. I tried to remain cool. “Girl, Santiaga’s gonna get you the best of everything, no doubt. Your face gonna look even better than it did before the accident.” At Momma’s gesture, I handed her the pen and pad from her night table. She scribbled a note to me, which read: Stay out of Brooklyn.

  Overcoming boredom was my new project in life. I had spoken with my girls from Brooklyn, but I ended those conversations as soon as the questions started flowing. Usually the questions started flowing immediately. Of course nothing but a Mack truck could stop Natalie’s mouth from yapping. She volunteered the information that some serious shit had gone down around our way and some peeps turned up missing. Which really meant nothing to me except nosy niggas around the way ain’t see certain people for awhile, but for all they know niggas could be down South visiting relatives or some shit like that.

  “The block is hot.” That’s how Natalie put it, which meant that the 5-0 was everywhere. That shit didn’t scare me ’cause we always had plenty of cops around our way in Brooklyn. Sometimes they were on the scene of the crime and looked the other way ’cause they had a piece of the action.

  The way I figured it everybody had to have a hustle to survive. The cops wasn’t no threat as long as their cut was in it. As Santiaga said, “You gotta know
how to spread the cheese around the table.” Natalie also filled me in on the up-and-coming cuties who was buzzing around the way and the goings-on. She had seen Midnight only once in passing. He didn’t say shit to her. He never did and according to Natalie he just seemed to keep everything on the down low. He hadn’t been to the club and Tasia been running round with little Nickel.

  I wasn’t going to tell her about the new Benz. But it was taking all I had for me to keep it a secret. Then Natalie remembered that my birthday was next week, on Friday. She said she wanted to big me up on my birthday, take me out, get some bubbly, and do our thing. The bonus was that Slick Kid, her man of the moment, was cool with Bullet. We could double-date and live it up at their expense. “Bullet?” I asked. “Little Bullet.”

  “Girl get up on it. Little Bullet is Bullet now and ain’t nothing little about him.” I thought about it for a second. I always thought Bullet was a little cutie, swift on his feet, a fast talker, and definitely had the hustle in him. He was a small-timer though. Not the type I’d ever consider to set up with or marry, but I could easily swing an episode with him. The puzzle was that I couldn’t go to Brooklyn. I also couldn’t mention that I wasn’t allowed to go to Brooklyn.

  I had been stalling and lying to Natalie about why I wasn’t coming around the way. Security at our house was at an all-time high. The Saturday night parties were dead. Other than Magdalena, security, and the workers, we couldn’t invite no houseguests. Now I needed to come up with a compromise, an alternative. This date was something I needed in order to connect with myself and my people. I really needed the attention. Mamma had been hogging all of it up lately. Santiaga been either having meetings in the den, out working the streets, or on the phone.